A/N: This is a story for an idea I had for a long time, and I finally decided to write it, and it originally started out as an original fic, so I decided to incorperate Assassin's Creed into it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. Believe me, if I owned Assassin's Creed, Altair would be doing much different things than jumping off of buildings...XD

Lacrima Bureau loves cake. With all her heart. She spills love into every one she makes, and fells the woes of heartbreak every time she sells one. Good thing her parents and employees persuade her that "money is good. Bankruptcy is baaad". Despite her feelings for her creations, she rarely eats any, though every person testifies that they keep getting better. Using her knowledge of Greek mythology, she would compare herself to Cronus, the Titan, who "ate his children, and got the short stick later." None of those close to her questions her ways, odd as they are. Every month, she manages to create a new cake to the menu of her cake shop, 'The Bureau'.

Being in business for three years catches up with you fast.

The Bureau was Lacrima's seventeenth birthday present. Before then, it was her parent's Italian restaurant, also named The Bureau. Before then, it was her grandfather's Laundromat, and before then, it was a knife and gun shop. She knew the history of that store all the way back to 1784, when it was first built as a general store, although it also doubled as a storage unit for alcohol during the Prohibition Act, and a stop-off point of the Underground Railroad. But Lacrima, determined not to break family tradition, renovated the kitchen, refurbished the small apartment upstairs, and moved in.

First, she took a mallet at hacked out all the unwanted things that got in her way. After her brief destruction, she collaborated with her designer friend, Romeo Matheson, and they set to work. Skylights went in, and drab ceilings went out. Onto the walls, stucco reigned in a dusty, yet kingly yellow. The old windows were taken out, and replaced with more walls. The enclosure was warm and cozy, and on good days, the skylight could retract and let in the warm light, perfect for eating cake with. The dingy floorboards of times past were yanked out, but reused to make the low tables scattered around the room. Underneath the tables, and mostly everywhere else, colorful cushions and exotic rugs littered the new stone floor with life. Soft chatter from customers, employees, or any mixture of the two drifted over everything, calming the mind and relaxing your body. The pictures of the Middle East were framed and hung all over the wall, memories of Lacrima's trip to Jerusalem, Damascus, and Syria. Her travels were spontaneous and short, but each ended in her coming home speaking a new language. First English, then Spanish, then Italian, then French, Greek, Hebrew, and finally Arabic. "How do you keep up with all this random junk you bring back from Wherever-Land?" her sister, Jasika, would often say, followed by "First, you open a cake shop. A cake shop. Not just a cake shop, it's a Middle-Eastern cake shop! Next, you study Greek mythology! That's just useless, unless you feel like writing a book or something! Third, the family tree. Don't even get me started about the family tree…"

Behind the display counter, there is a beautiful, wall-covering family tree, painted black against the yellowy paint (the wall was flattened out here, as to make the calligraphic artist's work easier than on the stucco). The names go all the way back to the late twelfth century, with Marid Al-Sayif. Try as she might, Lacrima couldn't seem to find any information on Marid. The names branched out along the wall, and there was a good five feet left, as to leave room for future marriages and births. But Lacrima said she would never marry, for every man she's had a relationship with encouraged her to leave the shop behind and get married (except for her father, who is quite the opposite).

From the outside, The Bureau looks just like any other shop on the street. Hand-painted sign, dull brown door…inside is a secret. No one is allowed to take pictures inside the store. It's a rule.

To get to the top apartment, you have to go through the kitchen, out the back door, up the fire escape, and through another door. It enters into Lacrima's small personal kitchen. Directly forward is the even-tinier living room, with a squashed couch, a tiny monitor connected to the internet, and a stack of videogames one of Lacrima's old boyfriends left behind when he stormed out. If you were to backtrack through the hall, and take a turn in through the door on the left, you would be going into Lacrima's bedroom. A queen-sized bed takes up most of the space in the small room, and a miniscule closet holds the clothes of both Lacrima and her boyfriends of the past. Across from the room is a bathroom, with a good enough shower, and a toilet.

Lacrima looks good. She got her looks from her mother, who modeled for a fashion company before she got laid off. After, she met Lacrima's father and became a waitress, one of the reasons why the restaurant did so well. Her hair is long and dark, and hangs in waves down her back. Her skin is dark, but just enough so she can look exotic and American at the same time. Her unnaturally bright blue eyes are what attract men to her, although her curvy body adds to those reasons well enough. In her 21 years she's seen a lot, and she's seen happiness.

But she's never been happy.

Review please? I have a habit of killing off characters after I get bored with them...

Love,

Bailey